The Basement (REWRITE)
by xSeshatx
Summary: REWRITE. Ponyboy Curtis was kidnapped when he was only four years old. Nine years later, he was found chained to a basement wall. How does Ponyboy cope when he's placed back with his family? Does he remember anything about the life he was supposed to live or does he have to start from the beginning? Can his brothers and new friends help him regain control on his life?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N so I've decided to rewrite this story. It's been a couple of years since I wrote it, and while I haven't grown too much as a writer, I've grown enough where I cannot write a third story to this series if I do not sit down and rewrite the first two. Hopefully, it's better than the original, and if it isn't, whoops. I have on document on one side of the screen with the other directly next to it, keeping them side-by-side for reference. I'll keep a lot of the same stuff, and maybe even paragraphs will just be copied and pasted into this new story, but I'll see where it takes me. I'm writing this note before I even write the first sentence of the remake. Those of you who write know what I mean when I say the story drags itself in one direction and we're just forced to write after it because who are we to change what the story has become. That being said, if the story ends up a tad bit different than the original, please don't hurt me**

I would be lying if I said that I didn't nearly forget that I had a family and a home to make it back to. It had been nine years since I saw my family last, and it had gotten to the point where I wondered if I made up the first four years of my life or if it really happened. I was four years old when I was taken, stolen from my home, and I didn't even know how old I was when I was found, but I did find out I was thirteen. The significance of the age thirteen didn't reach me at first because, when I was four, I didn't know there was a big significance. I was focused on being five because being five would make me a big kid, and I wanted to be a big kid.

If I was asked me to describe my time away from my family in one word, I would use the word darkness for two reasons. The first and most obvious reason would be the lack of adjectives I knew from being locked away for the majority of my school years. Despite that, however, I had a large vocabulary and understanding of the world because my captors let me read books throughout the nine years I was there, but since I was trapped since I was four, it was hard to really imagine that there was a world outside of that house I was in. It took a short while for me to really start using the knowledge I gained from reading in the 'real world' because the idea of a 'real world' was almost alien to me. The second reason I would use the word 'darkness' to describe the later nine years of my life at that point is because that's a large portion of what my day consisted of: darkness. Anywhere I looked, there was darkness. There were moments where there was absolutely no source of light anywhere in the room, and I grew accustomed to that darkness. There was a window at the top of the room which brought in light from the sun, but that was only some parts of the day because of the tree outside my 'bedroom'. All that being said, darkness didn't phase me, but light did. Horribly.

When I realized nobody was going to find me, I was around seven years old, I assume. Maybe it was only a few weeks after I initially went missing, or maybe it was five or six years later. I may not have a time frame to match it up to, but that doesn't take away from it happening. The people who had taken me normally kept me locked away when they weren't with me, and they would hurt me when they were, but there were some rare moments of serenity in the house I was in. I would be brought upstairs to spend some time with them, doing some things such as playing cards or watching the television. The day I realized I was going to be trapped there forever was a day we were watching the television. I can't remember what it was exactly we were watching, but I think it was something like the news or maybe the weather. The normality of the person speaking on the television pulled at my heart in an unfamiliar way as I made a connection that the person on the screen existed in real life. They had a real family to go home to, they had a real house, and maybe they had a child. Maybe the child they had was the same age of me. Maybe I knew that child before I was taken. That day was the last day I cried while I was held captive, and that day was the day I stopped dreaming of my lost family.

The police showed up in the house one day, and I didn't know who or what they were until I read the word 'police' on their uniforms. I didn't know why they were there, either, because at the house there were no visitors that the men I stayed with weren't expecting. There were never knocks on the door, and nobody ever busted the door down. It was unfamiliar and therefore it was scary, so I cowered in the corner of the basement, my bedroom, and waited for the unpleasantness of this surprise that must have been set up by my captors. Surprises were common when I stopped reacting the way that they wanted me to. The door leading to the upstairs was opened with such force that my body instinctively flinched back even though I had long since stopped flinching from their abuse. Down came four men and one woman, each wearing the same outfit and each holding a weapon I knew as a gun. When one of the men met my eyes, he lowered the weapon and advanced on me, asking me what my name was and if I was hurt. I couldn't remember my name.

It didn't take long for the police officers long to realize that I wasn't going to answer any question they asked me or speak at all, because then one announced they were going to go call for an ambulance and took the stairs three at a time as he ran out. The woman took a seat next to me, holding my hand while the men started pulling at the chains around my wrists and ankles. The woman assured me that the men who kidnapped me were under arrest and I would never have to see them again, and then I started pulling away from them with a force even I didn't realize I had. I was pulling away because they were taking away the men I grew up with, the people who were the closest thing to a family that I had for most of my life. What happened to me seemed normal, and it was a part of life. I knew everything they did to me was wrong, but I was so heartachingly sad to think about them getting punished for it. The sadness wore off after a while of the woman keeping her arms wrapped around me, making it harder for me to pull away from them, and the sadness was replaced by anger. I was angry that the men I grew up with gave up so quickly. I wondered if they even tried to fight, tried to make sure I wouldn't be taken away from them. I felt betrayed. If they tried to fight for me, I would have stood up for them to make sure the police knew it was one giant misunderstanding, that these men meant me no harm.

I wasn't allowed to talk to or see my real family for a few weeks after I was found in the basement. I wasn't stable for it, they explained to me. I wasn't stable and I was too confused about where I belonged. I overheard the doctors talking, saying that once I stopped reacting negatively about my captors being arrested then I would be able to return to my home. For now, they needed to make sure I wouldn't run off. Nobody seemed to remember that I could barely walk, let alone run. Also, nobody seemed to consider the fact that I did miss my real family, despite me wishing against the arrest of my captors. They didn't think I even remembered my family, which was partially true because I almost forgot they existed, but I remembered them. There was a lot of emotional turmoil over me being moved from the basement to a hospital, and I found myself wishing for my mother, as most children do in times of hurt. I missed my mom, and I missed my dad, and I missed my two older brothers. I wondered if I had any younger siblings to miss.

It was hard being in the hospital. One of the hardest adjustments for me personally was sleeping in a bed during night. I was used to sleeping on the hard floor which wasn't as uncomfortable as the doctors seemed to assume it was, and I was also used to sleeping at any point in the day. In the basement, I didn't have to worry about silly things like walking back and forth or lifting my leg up and having to hold it there while everybody around me counted in unison. In the basement, I didn't have to deal with blinding lights being turned on during different moments of the day. In the basement, I didn't have to listen to people asking me hundreds of questions each day. I kept my mouth shut the entire time, refusing to say anything. I didn't say anything about the men or my time in the basement. I didn't say when the doctors did something that hurt or when I was too tired to continue walking back and forth. I didn't say anything when the light burned my eyes. I didn't say that any food I was given tasted like garbage I had been forced to eat while starving in the basement. I listened to them as they told me I was thirteen, missing for nine years, and my name, but I didn't say a word in response.

The physical exams given to me during the hospital was hard to endure. The first time they closed the door, pulled the curtains, and explained what they were going to do, I had a freak out where I couldn't catch my breath and the doctors had to restrain me when I started physically reacting. The next time an exam was attempted, it was a nurse who talked softly and didn't approach me until I relaxed my body and allowed her to do the exam. She gave me a few minutes to brace myself after explaining in full detail what she was about to do. It was uncomfortable and I was scared, but she made it go by simple enough. Any other physical exam I needed, she was the one to perform it.

I think I was on the hospital for around three weeks before I was finally stable enough to meet my family again. The nurses all got together to go out and buy me a few sets of clothes, since the only thing I had to wear from the basement was a very large shirt that was given to me by the man who stole me from the park all those years ago. Together, the nurses picked out an outfit for me to put on so I could look decent when seeing my family again for the first time in nine years. They nurses guessed my size wrong because the clothes they got me were baggy, but they fit better than anything I have worn while away from my family. The jeans were completely uncomfortable, but after a short while I had grown used to the feel. I detested the shoes, but I hadn't worn anything on my feet since I was four so even I could have expected that.

I was told the night before they arrived that they would be coming around lunch time the following day and that caused me to be up most of the night, wondering what they would be like. I wondered if I would recognize them immediately or if the rare daydreams and night dreams I had of them were depicting different people. I wondered if they would even want me anymore after I had been damaged the way I had been in the basement. The doctors and nurses knew the gist of what I experienced, such as the forced drug use, physical abuse, and sexual abuse, and I was sure they told everything to my parents. Maybe they didn't want me as a son anymore, knowing I wasn't the same person who they lost nine years before.

The doctors said I was full of nerves as we all awaited the arrival of my parents. Two doctors and three nurses were waiting in my room with me, all of them claiming that they didn't want me to have to face them alone, but I knew they wanted to make sure someone was there to restrain me if I got out of hand, as I did often enough while I was there. They were all just too touchy, and I didn't want to be touched. I sat on my bed with my knees up to my chest as I stared at the doorway, terrified of what could possibly happen but also a type of nervous-excited that I hadn't remembered ever feeling. My family was supposed to show up at eleven that afternoon, but we all started waiting around 9:30. Around ten, I heard a lot of commotion. It was quiet commotion, but it was a lot of it. A few moments later, I saw four people looking around frantically, but then the woman looked up and locked eyes with me.

I immediately recognized her. She had aged quite a bit, her once blonde hair was now graying, and the clear, happy face I remembered was replaced with one with worry lines. She seemed smaller than I remembered her being, but she was always a tiny woman. The smile that presented itself on her face brought me back nine years and it was like I never left. She had a thing about her that could make anybody feel as if they've known her forever. She had a kind face, very full of life and happiness and the desire to make everybody else live their life to the best of their abilities while she supported them the entire way because that's who she was. She was always a mom to everybody who weren't even her children, but she saved some soft spots for her family. It was my mother, and she looked happy to see me.

My father came rushing behind my mom when he saw me staring at them, and I couldn't help but wonder how it is they recognized me so well. My dad still looked young and nowhere near his real age which had to be between forty and fifty, but I couldn't remember. His eyes were soft and the grin he had on his face was genuine. His head lowered in an unfamiliar way, because my father always had his head held high, but when he raised it again I saw the tears that were present and he gripped my mother's hand as they stood in the entrance to my hospital room. My father was always one giant child, always running around the house and creating just as much noise as us kids, but he had an older look in his eyes. Not the old age type of old but the old the suggested he had been through more than anybody his age ought to. That didn't take away the from happiness seeping into his smile.

My oldest brother was a spitting image of our father that I almost thought I was seeing double, except he looked even older mentally than my father did. They stood at around the same height and if I didn't know any better I would have assumed they were brothers, but I could recognize Darry's face. Darry had a certain, unnameable feature about him that just told me he was my big brother. The tears that were flowing down his cheeks weren't happy tears, but they were sad tears. Sad tears because I was back or sad tears because of how long I had been missing, I couldn't tell, but I hoped it wasn't the former. The grin he gave me after the two of us made eye contact made me throw away any idea that the tears were sad because I was there.

My other brother, the middle child, was grinning at me ear to ear. He seemed to have taken more after our mother than our father, and our mother was beautiful. He had looks that would probably take anybody's breath away. His grin was playful while his eyes remained sad, and I could tell he wore his heart on his sleeve. There was no secret to the emotions he was feeling as it was evident on his face. Even someone like me, who had no practice in reading emotion or even recognizing them all the time, could figure out exactly what he was feeling.

I didn't want to imagine how I looked like to them, but after examining them so hard I couldn't help but remember my own looks. I had taken plenty of time in the bathroom of the hospital to just stare at myself, because during those nine years I had not once glanced in a mirror or anything to see what my own looks were like. I had very long, brown hair that was just unhealthy and greasy and I had a few clunks of hair missing atop my head. The doctors said it was from how unkempt my hair was the entire time and that it had just fallen out in some spots throughout the years. My teeth shocked dentists because they were baffled at how my teeth were relatively healthy after my time away and never using a toothbrush. That didn't mean they were perfect, though. My mouth was full of cavities and I needed three teeth removed in the back, but he did saw relatively healthy, so my teeth must have been expected to be much worse. There was no color to my skin, making me look more gray than pale. My eyes were almost as colorless as my skins, giving off a gray look with a tint of green. My nose was a bit crooked from an early incident where I was hit in the face, and I assume my nose broke or else it wouldn't have been crooked. I had no fat anywhere on my body so my skin kind of hung awkwardly on my bones. I couldn't figure out how they recognized me so easily, but maybe it was because of the same reason I recognized them.

All four of my family stood in the doorway, staring at me while I stared back. I didn't smile like they did, and I didn't cry. I don't think anything changed on my face from seeing them again for the first time, but internally was a different story. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest and I had butterflies in my stomach. Part of me wanted to jump up and hug them as tight as I could, crying about how I missed them and the torture I endured was horrendous, but another part of me remembered how they might have been my real family but they weren't the family I had for nine years. That part of me wanted my other family back despite the fact that they were in jail and would remain there forever, as soon as the court dates were over.

It was my mother who made the first move after standing in the doorway for a few moments with no reaction. She took a few steps closer to the bed I was sitting on, my father's hand releasing hers as he stood in the doorway. She moved slowly as if she was expecting me to slide backwards and away from her, but when I remained motionless she probably took that as a sign to continue because she walked towards me with more confidence than she started off with. Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes stared into mind, and I heard her voice clearly now for the first time in nine years, but all she said was one word.

"Ponyboy..."

 **A/N Okay so this is Chapter One. Maybe I'll continue this rewrite, maybe not. I'm going to wait to see any comments I get. See who thinks I should continue, who thinks I shouldn't, and whatever. If this first chapter is absolute shit then I'll just leave the series alone**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N I got so many positive comments about this story, both on fanfiction and on wattpad, and I just wanna say thank you to everybody who commented, favorited, or even read it.**

 **Time to get real - I am very bad at updating. I try not to post stories that aren't already finished because I know I lack motivation most of the time to finish what I've started (I used to write a lot of stories on old Quotev accounts. I mainly only post oneshots on any account nowadays). I'm writing this one chapter at a time, so I'm hoping I don't go weeks in between updates or anything. I'm going to try to do an update every few days. I'm apologizing ahead of time if this doesn't end up that way.**

The awkwardness in the air was tangible, but that didn't seem to put a damper on anything. My older brother, Sodapop, was chatting about something, and his sentences seemed to have no end in sight, though that wasn't a bad thing. He spoke differently than all the doctors, nurses, and police officers spoke - he spoke with a sense of normality that didn't seem forced or faked. The doctor pulled my parents out of the room for longer than was comfortable and when they came back, I was made aware of the fact that I was being sent home. Something about being in my home environment being healthy for my mental well-being and bringing me out of my voluntary silence. I listened to the doctor give my family detailed instructions on how to care for me, talking as if I wasn't even there. They spoke about how I could only eat small meals once a day, how I needed protective eyewear because my eyes were too light sensitive still, and they talked about how I could either come to the hospital three times a week for physical therapy or we could continue my physical therapy at home. There was a lot of information and a lot of instructions. By the end of it, I was ready to just leave if it meant I was granted freedom from listening to him talk anymore.

The car ride was one of the worst experiences of my life, and I had been through quite a bit. The only car ride I could remember was the ride in the ambulance and I hadn't fully comprehended everything that was happening at that moment so it doesn't count as much. I hated the feeling of sitting yet being in constant motion and just the thought of being in a confined bundle of metal shook me up enough internally for me to consider the option of jumping out of the car which was possible because I had a seat next to the door. Sodapop was the one stuck in the middle of me and Darry, and it was almost amusing to see a guy as big as Darry hunched over in the backseat of a relatively small car. Our dad was driving the car and our mother was watching me in the side mirror. I had wanted to watch the scenery as we drove by but my eyes hurt too bad from all that sunlight. Nobody spoke a single word despite the fact that Sodapop had talked nonstop while me, him, and Darry were alone in the hospital room. There wasn't much that could be said. What could I or any of them say? 'Hey, welcome back' or 'So what happened the past nine years for you guys? Anything interesting?' It wasn't like I went camping for the weekend.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a tiny little house that I didn't recognize as well as I recognized my parents, but something about it made my heart skip a beat. The outside of the house was run down. Compared to the surrounding houses, however, our house didn't seem run down at all. There was a gate that was dented at different points and was locked shut, although not securely. The window on the screen door was busted while the front door was covered in spray paint. Some shingles on the roof seemed to be barely hanging on, and there was plenty of trash lined up along the street curb with none of it reaching our yard. Yet, the house seemed homey, like anybody could tell that a very happy family lived inside of it. A happy family that didn't need a third child present.

I remained in the car until Darry opened his side of the car and got out with Sodapop following behind him. Our dad turned around to look at me, watching me until I opened the door and pulled myself out using more arm strength than leg strength because I had little arm muscle but almost no leg muscle. Mom reached out momentarily as if she was going to help me stand upright but pulled away immediately. She probably wasn't sure how I would react to physical contact, even if it was conducted by her. I wasn't sure how I would react, either. She was my mother and I love her, so by that sense I was dying to feel her touch once again, but I also wasn't the son she had nine years before who wouldn't be able to help but to tense up at the contact.

Dad walked into the house after Sodapop and Darry while mom waited behind me as I made it up the walkway. She grabbed the door and held it open for me and I walked inside what once was my home. The first thing I noticed was the beat up, stained couch that was covered in what looked like flower print. There were a few small holes covering the arms that I would later find out were from cigarettes. Next to the couch was a small table which held a telephone, a lamp, and an ash trash. In front of the small table and the couch was another longer table that was covered in magazines and two books, one being The Catcher in the Rye and the other being Lord of the Flies. There was a television along the wall of the room but it was turned off.

Turning to the right, I saw a wall full of pictures. The top picture was a picture of mom and dad together on what looked to be their wedding night. To the bottom left of that picture was a baby with a label 'Darrel.' To the bottom right of our parents' picture and hanging lower than Darry was another baby labeled 'Sodapop.' In the middle of the pictures below all three was another baby labeled 'Ponyboy'. Then there were odd pictures hanging at different places. Some were all of us, some were them without me, and some had people I hadn't recognized but would later come to know as their friends and mine. Below all of the pictures was a bookshelf, covered in books, notebooks, and magazines. There was a single picture in a picture frame set on the bookshelf instead of the wall. That picture was me. I looked to be about two or three years old, grinning at the camera with my face covered in chocolate. Written on the picture frame was 'Ponyboy Michael Curtis, forever in our prayers'.

I realized too late that everybody was watching me intensely, staring at me with such intensity. It was as if they were expecting me to break down in tears, crying over the years missed. Instead, I lowered my glance to the floor, no longer looking at them or anything else in the room. "Do you want to see your room?" I heard, and I didn't need any further confirmation that it was Sodapop except for that fact that he spoke to me. I knew I was closest to him as a child. I always had been closer to him than Darry or even our parents. He had been my best friend and I admired him. I remembered how safe he made me feel, how I would sneak into his room two to three nights a week when I woke up from a nightmare. There had only been a two-year age difference between me and him while me and Darry had six years which likely contributed to the fact that I wasn't as close to Darry. Once I nodded to Sodapop, he led me down the hall to where I knew my room was. I couldn't picture my room or the way to get there, but it was as if my body and mind remembered how to get there.

Sodapop waited until I caught up with him considering how he walked significantly faster than I did before he opened my bedroom door and invited me inside. Once I was inside the room, I could picture four year old me standing in that same spot. I could imagine four year old me running in my room excitedly after a day of preschool, throwing my backpack on the miniature desk against the wall and grabbing my jacket to go play outside with Sodapop. I could remember my last day in that room just from stepping inside of it one more time, and that's how I spent the last thirty seconds. I had tossed my backpack, grabbed the jacket I was borrowing from Sodapop after misplacing mine, and debated picking up my protective stuffed animal but decided against it at the last second before running back out as fast as I had ran in.

The room didn't look exactly how I was remembering at that moment. I was able to picture the toys and clothes that had been semi-covering the floor since mom hadn't gotten around to cleaning up my mess just yet. Now, though, there were no clothes, no toys. The miniature desk had been replaced with a larger, more run-down desk not fit for a four-year old. There was a larger bed instead of a smaller, child-sized bed. The stuffed animal I remembered, though, was laying on the middle of this larger bed. It was a dog. When I was a child, it was a yellowish-orange and seemed as if it was brand new. I couldn't stop my feet as they walked forward towards the bed, and I didn't try to stop my hand from reaching out to pick out my dog. Scruffy, I had named him. I had gotten him as a baby and it had stayed by my side nearly everyday until I went missing. One of the only days I didn't bring him with me was the day I was taken. Ironic, really. Scruffy now had a more gray-tint to him instead of the vibrant yellow-orange I was remembering, and he seemed more flimsy than before.

"We always kept your room clean," Sodapop said after a long few minutes of silence as he watched me take in my surroundings. "Just in case we found you. We kept all your toys, baby clothes, and all that. They're in your closet. Except for that dog."

I stared down at the dog in my hands and felt emotion fill my body. There was an ache of longing in my heart that I couldn't breathe away. I set Scruffy down on my bed before turning to face Sodapop, who had silent tears running down his cheeks. When I took a few small steps closer to my brother, he looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Before I realized what I was doing, I had him in a hug, the first I hug I could remember giving anybody. My arms had wrapped around him as tightly as they possibly could, which hadn't been tight at all, but the effort was evident. He held me back just as tight, probably to make sure he didn't scare me away or hurt me by hugging me back tighter. I fought the way my body tensed up at the unfamiliar physical contact because he was my brother and I didn't want to be afraid to hug my family, strangers as they were.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into my ear, his voice filled with tears. My face buried itself into his shoulder without me consciously doing so. I would have started crying if I hadn't stopped crying years before. "I never stopped believing we'd fine you." What could I possibly say to that? I stopped believing years before. All hope had long since faded away, and I hadn't let myself think about him and the rest of my family. I couldn't tell him that I stopped expecting to be found or that I almost forget they existed. I couldn't tell him that I would have stayed with the men who took me if I had been given the chance. Instead, I simply responded with a nod. That was probably the best he could have expected from me.

"C'mon," Soda said after a few seconds, pulling away and replacing his tears with a smile. I followed him back out to the living room where my parents and Darry stood waiting for us to return, none of them looking as if they had moved. The second I was back in the room, I guess mom lost her self-control because she ran over, wrapping her arms around me in a hug. She was gentle, like a mother should be. Like a person should be. Once I started tensing up, she pulled away, looking as if she was about to apologize before somebody else had hugged me. Panic almost overtook me before I realized it was Darry. I barely had time to hug him back before he released me and took a couple steps away from me awkwardly. I couldn't help but get the feeling that he didn't want me there even though I knew that wasn't likely. I decided I would just keep my distance from him as much as I could until he made an effort to be around me. I wouldn't push my presence on him.

My dad, almost surprisingly, refused to even step towards me, let alone hug me. "When you're ready for that, you'll come to me," he said, causing my mom to smile sheepishly because she did the opposite of him. I was grateful for him because, to be honest, I wasn't comfortable with men as big as him and Darry because men around their size were the men who hurt me throughout my life. The ones I stayed with the most weren't as big and scary looking, but a lot of the men who would come and go were their size or bigger, so Darry and dad frightened me a bit.

Sodapop walked around me to reach mom, tapping on her shoulder. "Mom," he had said, "can I take Ponyboy around town? Show him around?"

First, mom looked at me with eyes filled with worry, probably thinking that the second I left her sight I would be missing again. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "He just got back and... Are you ready for that, Ponyboy?" I didn't really know how I felt about going anywhere, but I also didn't know how I felt about being confined in a small house with essentially strangers. So I nodded. "Alright... But both of you have to be home by six for supper, and you can't go too far away. No further than the Dingo, you understand me, Sodapop? Ponyboy, here," she said and reached into her purse to pull out sunglasses and sunscreen. "The doctors said how you'll burn easy, and I know the light bothers you. You're not too tired, are you? How are your legs? If you get too tired, let Soda know and he'll bring you back, okay? Are you sure you want to go out?"

"He'll be fine," dad said, resting a hand on mom's shoulder and giving her an encouraging smile. "Sodapop won't let anything happen to him. You know he'll me more careful this time." I wanted to stop the memory that invaded my brain, of mom taking the three of us to the park and Sodapop running off to the swings. I had chased after him, wanting to place with him and his friend. I was too far away from them and everybody was too far away from me when...

Soda flinched away from the end of dad's sentence, but he gave a soft smile and reached over to open the door. "Don't worry, guys," he said, "I'm not letting him away from me."


	3. Chapter 3

Sodapop and I stayed silent for a while as we walked, and I wondered what he was thinking about. I assumed he was thinking about what our dad said before we left. 'You know he'll be more careful this time.' It sounded almost as if Sodapop was being blamed for my disappearance, but I knew that wasn't true. I knew it wasn't necessarily anybody's fault. Darry had been in charge, but of course that's only what mom said. Mom was in charge, Darry was said to be in charge probably to give him a sense of responsibility, and Sodapop went running to play with his friend while I ran slower behind him. They all were there, but none of them, not even mom, could stop it. Putting the blame on a six or seven year old seemed a little harsh. Maybe dad hadn't meant it that way. I hoped he didn't, anyways, because I didn't want Sodapop blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault.

While me and Sodapop walked through the streets with him occasionally pointing out a place we were, I wanted to ask him questions, such as where we were going, how his life turned out, what he would have been doing if I wasn't there. Sodapop, it seemed, was having a similar internal struggle, always looking as if there was more he wanted to say. It was obvious he would be the first to break the quiet. "So, did you, uh, ever go into town there or somethin'?" he finally asked. I knew this question was more of a way to get into a conversation and less of a curiosity-filled question because he didn't sound as if he really wanted to hear an answer. Still, I shook my head in response. I couldn't remember a time I left the house, but it was possible I might have at some point. If I ever did, I didn't leave the property. I never knew if I was in the town or the country, if there were houses around me, or if I was even near a city at all.

The silence that followed his question was only momentarily before he asked, "Are you hungry?" I wasn't, and he probably knew that, but he also probably knew that I needed to eat. I appreciated the fact that he asked if I was hungry instead of simply taking me somewhere to get something to eat, as if my input meant something, but I didn't want to find out if he would take me somewhere to eat even if I said no, so I shrugged my shoulders. "Let's go to The Dingo. That's where people like me hang out - people like greasers." I vaguely remembered hearing that term before, probably before I was taken, but I couldn't be sure what it meant. I hadn't been sure what his statement 'people like me' meant, either. However, I did remember The Dingo, if only barely. It was just a place we went to get food sometimes when mom or dad wanted to treat us kids to something.

Sodapop, after watching me for almost a minute straight, smiled sadly. "We'll have to teach you how to be a greaser, huh?" he asked with a little laugh that didn't sound like much of a laugh at all. "Maybe we shouldn't. Maybe if you aren't a greaser, you won't be stuck in a town like this all your life." The sad smile disappeared to an even sadder frown. "I remember when us two used to get into Darry's hair grease. He was eight or nine when he started greasin' it back, tryna look tough. He stopped using it when he was maybe twelve. Said it didn't really fit him, and he was right. I can't imagine him with hair grease anymore. The only reason he qualifies as a greaser is 'cause we're from this side of town. He's too smart, sporty, and popular to really be a greaser, but he never wanted to change." Sighing, Sodapop stopped looking at me and started looking at the street we were walking on with his head lowered. "The rest of us sure are greasers, though. 'Member Steve?"

I sure did remember Steve. Steve was Sodapop's best friend way back when. It seemed as if he was always around for the last few months I was there. In some portion of my memory, it almost was as if he lived with us. Those two were inseparable, always playing together and laughing together and even crying together. Steve would start out annoyed whenever I asked to play with them, but I don't think he ever really minded. We were all kids after all. By the end of the day, the three of us were always laughing together about something or another, usually some stupid game we thought was the most creative game in the entire world. We used to play Fuzz and Hoods, but I think the game was actually called Cops and Robbers. Soda and Steve were always the hoods, but I was always the fuzz who ended up turning into a hood because I'd rather be running with them than chasing them. By the end of the game, there was no fuzz chasing after us.

Sodapop's smile looked real when I nodded, probably not really expecting me to remember him. I did, though, now that I was no longer blocking out memories of my early childhood. "He's still my best buddy, but we got other friends now. Now it's not just me and Steve. There's a whole bunch of us, with Darry, too. There's Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit. Well, his name is really Keith, but that's such a gross name for a guy like Two-Bit." He sounded more happy when he was talking about his friends, so I couldn't help but want to meet them, deep down inside. If they kept Sodapop happy even with me, his little brother, missing, then they were probably the best of people and Sodapop deserved the best. Darry, too. They all did.

The Dingo didn't look anything like I imagined it would look, but I couldn't really form an image of the place from my memories so the picture I was thinking about was likely very inaccurate. The building itself was small compared to the parking lot, and the lot was covered in glass and blood stains. I knew they were blood stains the moment I saw it, and I stayed as far away from that as I could. Inside of The Dingo was clean compared to the outside, but it was busy with a bunch of guys wearing jean or leather jackets and hair greased back similar to Sodapop's. I followed Sodapop to a booth, and he sat down opposite of me so we were looking at each other face-to-face. The waitress came over to ask what we wanted to drink, and Soda started off saying water, but switched it up to two Pepsis, saying after the waitress walked away that he wanted me to taste 'a bit of heaven'. Mom and dad never let me have a Pepsi, and I hadn't had anything but water while I was gone, so Pepsi was a welcomed choice.

"My friends know about you," Sodapop said long after we both got our drinks. His was already empty and I had yet to touch mine. "They knew you were found and they knew we were visitin' you today. Steve 'members you. I think you missin' hurt him, too. We are the closest thing that Steve has to a real family, and you had been part of that picture ever since he met us." I tried, hard, to imagine what Steve looked like, but I couldn't picture it, although I could picture him existing. I couldn't remember much about him outside of the time we spent playing together, so I didn't know why he considered us family more than his real family. Sodapop carried on, not realizing how much his statement had me wondering. "They all wanna meet you. They're all like brothers to us, so you're like that long lost brother they've always known about but never had the chance to meet."

He went on talking about the two of them, pausing only to ask the waitress for two orders of french fries, briefly telling me that I used to love them. He explained them all in detail to me, telling me how much Two-Bit loved to laugh, how Johnny's family were 'dirtbags' as he said, and how Dally liked to pretend he didn't have a heart when in reality he loved them all as much as they all loved him. "I'm sure we can find them around, if you want," he said, probably noticing the longing grow in my eyes as he continued to talk endlessly about them. "They're always wonderin' around town like dirty hoods." At my frown, he smiled. "I didn't mean anythin' by that. It's all a joke that you'll come to understand."

The waitress returned around then, setting down our french fries and giving me an odd look which Sodapop returned with a glare. When she left, he took a fry off of his plate and ate it. "French fries are a common food. Most people love them. You used to tear these up. Go ahead and try one. I don't expect you to be able to eat many, but maybe if you like it, we'll know it's safe for you to eat." I knew french fries was something I probably wasn't allowed to eat because it wasn't on the list of foods that were, but I had an odd trust for Sodapop, probably trust that I had as a child that never grew away. I trusted Sodapop to know better than I did, so if he was suggesting to eat the french fries, they couldn't be so bad. And they weren't. It was an odd taste, coated with an unfamiliar scent and taste that I couldn't recall ever coming into contact with. I ate a lot of bread and eggs while I was gone, but never anything like the french fry. I could only eat maybe ten or so before I started to feel a little sick, though, and that's when I stopped. Sodapop had the rest put into a box so that I could eat later. The Pepsi, that I finally got around to tasting, was hard to get down at first and Soda laughed at the face I made. It wasn't a bad taste, though, and I finished almost half of the glass.

When Sodapop had finished laughing at the face I made, he took a moment to smile and stare at me before speaking again. "Do you want to meet my friends?" he asked, and I didn't respond immediately. I wanted to, yes, but I didn't know how many new things I could handle with the feeling of fear deep in my stomach. There was too many unfamiliar people and things around me that I was trying to adapt to. Being introduced to new people would probably end badly, but I desperately wanted to meet them. I didn't want to make Sodapop feel as if he could act normal around me. I wanted him to continue as casual as possible so that my entire experience returning home didn't feel forced. I wanted to feel as if nothing changed by my arrival because it was better than feeling everything changed in a bad way. I felt my body shaking and my heart beat raising at the thought, a very uncharacteristic reaction from me, seeing as how I usually had my fear controlled. My well-being and safety depended on things such as that. When my breathing started coming out quicker than was normal, Sodapop disappeared from in front of me and reappeared next to me, touching me for the first time since leaving our house. One hand was around my shoulders and the other was on my arm. "Hey," he said, his voice softer than I heard it all day, "we don't have to. We can go straight home and stay there for the rest of the day, tomorrow, and even the next day if that's what you want." I shook my head almost frantically because that's not what I wanted. I didn't want to hide away and have Sodapop hide away, too. "Do you...Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to...we can go meet my friends. Is that what you want?" I forced my head to move up and down as I used all my will power to control my breathing and my shaking. "We can go right now if that's what you want. We can go see them right now."

As Sodapop comforted by shaking form, I realized how much our bond carried over from nine years earlier. How we were strangers and yet he was holding me in public, trying to make sure I would be okay and wanting to make only the best decisions that would keep me safe and happy. He was willing to go out of his way just to introduce me to his friends, or hide away in our house for days on end even though I knew he was always the type of kid to run outside rather than sit inside. Sodapop was the one who offered to take a weak, sick kid who couldn't even walk straight out into the world because he wanted to make me part of the family and not just a stranger. As my shaking stopped and my breathing returned to normal, I knew figured out something that I hadn't thought was possible those nine years I was missing. Bonds can last a lifetime.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I'm really thinking about some of this story and yikes. I know it's kind of an eyeroller that Ponyboy immediately goes out and walks around with Sodapop and that this chapter comes to close after being found and all that. I guess it just works more for my plot. Also, these chapters are a lot longer than the chapters of the original. I put in a bunch more detail and stuff because the original seems very amateur. I hope the addition of words isn't a let down for those of you who read the original first. And I know that Ponyboy was talking in the first one - I wanted to change that up a bit for this.**

Have you ever looked at a person and decided mentally that they were going to be your best friend? That's how I felt when I looked at Johnny for the first time. I saw that look he had in his eyes that probably matched the look in mine, even though he couldn't see because of my sunglasses. He was scared of the world and I didn't blame him. I had a very general, non-specific background knowledge of Johnny, knowing that he had lived a life of abuse by his parents and that he found solace in the 'gang' as Sodapop had called themselves.

Sodapop had been able to find Two-Bit and Johnny without really looking for them. We had left The Dingo maybe three minutes before, walking in the direction of our house, and he had saw them in the distance. Sodapop shouted their names, they turned around, and then the bigger one, who I learned was Two-Bit, came running towards us while the smaller one came jogging after him. "This is my brother, Ponyboy," Sodapop said, gesturing to me without touching me. "Pony, this is Two-Bit and Johnny. Steve is probably at work right now and Lord knows where Dally is."

"So," Two-Bit started saying, looking me up and down, "you're the famous Mr. Curtis." I only nodded, keeping just behind Sodapop without making it obvious I was trying to hide behind him. Two-Bit was bigger than Sodapop which was intimidating. "Finally," he said, ignoring the way I took a smaller step backwards, "another Curtis I can drive crazy." I had to remember that he was loved to joke around because the word 'crazy' almost made me flinch. I was told everyday for nine years that I was crazy and I always wondered if it was true. It probably was, I reasoned.

Two-Bit and Sodapop started joking and laughing with each other and I could tell Soda was trying to avoid changing his behavior around me because of the looks he kept sending over. I was jealous, slightly, that Two-Bit could be so carefree with my brother when my brother was more careful with me. I knew it was only because they were friends and had known each other for however many years, but I couldn't help but almost take it personally. Johnny had come over to stand beside me, and I was grateful for that. I was grateful that I wasn't standing off to the side all alone, even though Sodapop was within five or six feet of me at all time. I was also grateful because Johnny was smaller. He was bigger than me, of course, but was smaller than Sodapop and definitely smaller than Darry and Two-Bit. Johnny seemed to be around my age, if I had to guess. I would have guessed maybe fourteen for Johnny and eighteen for Two-Bit. I learned that Johnny was fifteen and Two-Bit was seventeen, but my guesses weren't far off at all.

"Ain't you cold, man?" Johnny asked, breaking the silence between us. I shook my head no because I honestly wasn't. It was cold in the basement. Even though it was the beginning of January, it didn't feel too cold to me. "If you do get cold, just say somethin'." It was silent again for a long time, maybe ten minutes, as Sodapop and Two-Bit continued to talk and attempt to include me or Johnny in the conversation, but I was learning that Johnny was almost as quiet as me and he didn't hop in the conversation, either. "I feel like we know you with how often Soda talks about you." I didn't know how much Soda had to say about me that would pertain to who I was rather than a child who didn't yet have much personality. I still didn't.

That one sentence ended all conversation because Sodapop came over to us, messed up Johnny's hair, and smiled at me. "Aw, c'mon," Johnny whined, fixing his hair, only for Sodapop to mess it up again. I noticed that Johnny's hair was greased pretty heavily. Two-Bit wasn't as heavy at all. I understood what Sodapop meant when he said 'greasers' earlier.

"I guess we should be headin' out, Ponyboy," Sodapop announced, raising his arm as if he was going to reach out or touch me before lowering back quickly and casually. "You must be tired from all the walkin'." I was grateful he understood because I sure was tired. My legs ached and I felt like I needed water and a place to sit. I didn't want him to know any of that because I didn't want him to be extra careful with me, but I couldn't help but be thankful we were about to be on our way home where I could rest for a bit. "Catch ya later, Two-Bit. See ya, Johnnycake." We received waves from both of his friends and a wink from Two-Bit as we turned around to head back home.

Sodapop proved, not for the first time that day, that he was able to read my mind because he answered the question I was wondering about. "Our nickname for Johnny is Johnnycake. His last name is Cade. Johnnycake, Johnny Cade. It started when we was all little and we found out about his parents. Awful people. We started callin' 'im 'Johnnycake' whenever he'd show up late at night cryin', and it sorta just stuck," he explained, smiling sadly at me. "He's always reminded me of you, or at least how I'd imagined you'd be if we grew up together. He's quiet, very shy, but always thinkin'. Johnnycake don't say much, but we all know whatever he says is gonna be important and probably change our lives, if that makes any sense." He paused. "Once, me and Darry were angry at mom and dad. It was over somethin' really dumb. Two-Bit was goin' out of town and asked us to join him, but we were told know and it really ticked us off. We went out to The Dingo with the rest of the gang and we had complained about how protective mom and dad was over us. Johnny ain't say a word until we stopped, and you know what he said? He said, 'Maybe your folks are just scared you won't come back.' It was obvious that's what they were thinkin', but in our selfishness all we thought was that they didn't care about us and they were just tryin' to be jerks because they could. Johnnycake shut us right up that night, and I don't think we've ever been angry at them since."

Once Sodapop went quiet after finishing his story, I tried to imagine what I would be like if I never was taken away from them. Maybe I'd be a lot like Johnny, but maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would have ended up like Two-Bit, laughing and telling jokes without a care in the world, as Soda described him. I could have ended up more like Sodapop, or Darry, or maybe another one of their friends. Maybe I would have ended up so much different from all of them, leaving them to wonder where I got my personality from if it wasn't any of them. I also thought a lot about what Soda said about Johnny. Johnny probably knew first-hand what it was like to have parents who didn't care about them, so maybe he was offended that Soda and Darry tried to act like they were, or maybe he just wanted to save them the mental torture of feeling unwanted when thinking about their family.

I didn't know how I felt with my family or with my kidnappers. The kidnappers really had become more like family than I ever imagined they would have. They were cruel, torturing and punishing me everyday I was there with little break, but they were a constant in my life. The two men who took me saw me almost every day that entire time I was with them. Sometimes they'd talk to me as an equal as opposed to a captive, and they did do a lot of things that were nice, like bringing me books to read or occasionally letting me watch television. Once they even brought down a chess set and taught me how to play, although I still couldn't remember the rules exactly. A lot of times they drugged me so I wouldn't remember the pain I had endured, and I never found out if that was intentional or not. Sometimes they were nice, sitting down there with me and telling me stories of their childhood and cracking jokes. I got to know those two pretty well during the nine years I was held in their basement. There were other people throughout the years, too, but I never had any moments with them that weren't pain-filled. They'd bring in many people who they called clients to hurt me, but they never stuck around too long. Occasionally I'd see a familiar face, but mostly the people only stayed for a few weeks or maybe a couple of months. One man was unlucky enough to be caught with my two captors, and he was sitting in jail with them. It was unfortunate for him.

My real family, on the other hand, was always filled with laughter. We'd spend hours playing together, watching television, and just spending time with one another. Even Darry, being so much older than me, would sit down and play games and help me complete puzzles. We'd fight sometimes, but since I was four it was never really serious. I never got angry at them the way Darry would get mad at his friends or Soda and Steve would get mad at each other. I didn't understand enough to get too angry, so most of my early life was filled with nothing but happiness. It was mostly all good memories, though the number of memories were very slight in comparison to the memories I had of the basement. I couldn't help but wonder who I would choose if I was faced with the choice of staying with my family or going back to the basement.

"How much do you remember about me?" Sodapop asked, breaking me from my thoughts so suddenly I nearly jumped. I looked up at him, almost missing his question completely, and he repeated it. "Really, how much? Do you remember a lot about me?" I didn't know how to answer his question, and I didn't know if I even wanted to speak. I remembered that Sodapop was always laughing, smiling, and generally being as carefree as a child his age. I remembered he could cheer almost anybody up no matter what they were suffering with, like a child who fell at the playground. He always looked for the good in people, trying to befriend the playground bullies and whatnot. That's what I remembered about Sodapop, but I didn't say any of that. Instead, I remained silent and hoped I didn't disappoint him too much by refusing to speak.

Part of me wished I never new Sodapop. He was the only person I felt I had a connection with in my family. Maybe not the only connection I had, but it definitely was the strongest. That type of connection could only grow and I knew nothing could surpass it. Even after all those years, he still remained the closest in my heart, and that made it difficult for me to decide which life I wanted, the one with him or the one in the basement. I wondered how I'd 'bounce back.' I wondered if I would ever know without a doubt where I wanted to belong, and I wish I knew which one I wanted to belong to. Perhaps my inner turmoil wouldn't have even existed if I hadn't known Sodapop, as horrible as that thought is. I didn't want to be in the basement, but I did. I didn't want to be home with my family, but I did. It was confusing, and the neverending thoughts only caused my heartrate to speed back up. The battle of my inner-self was pointless, seeing as how I was stuck with my family. That should have been the end of it, but I had a feeling it was far from over.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N okay wow I'm very bad at updating in a timely manner. I'm sorry. Just yell at me after a few days and I'll try to hurry it up. For those of you who've read the original, I did cut out most of a chapter. I combined two chapters and took away a cringey moment of the original. Hopefully I don't get hate mail for that lol**

Sodapop and I barely took two steps inside of the house before mom was on her feet and advancing on us. "How are you, Ponyboy?" she asked side-stepping Sodapop to get to me all while scanning me for any injuries, it seemed like. Then, without waiting for me to respond, she turned to Sodapop. "Did you come across any trouble? Any at all?" The way she was speaking, it sounded as if she hadn't taken a proper breath since before we left the house, and I honestly couldn't blame her for the worry. I wasn't home for a day before I went walking around all of the city.

Giving me a wink, Soda put an arm around mom's shoulders. "No, mom, everythin' went smooth. We ate a little at The Dingo and met up with Johnnycake and Two-Bit," he answered, squeezing her with his one arm before letting go and dropping beside Darry on the couch. Hesitantly, as if she wanted to ask more questions but was holding herself back, mom sat down as well, sitting on the arm of the couch. The only open spot left was beside Darry, and I wasn't ready to be that close to somebody that big just yet so I took a seat on the floor, hugging my knees to my best and staring at my parents and brothers through the sunglasses I purposefully left on my face.

"No Socs bothered you?" Darry asked, looking at me after glancing at Sodapop for a moment. Before Soda could answer the question directed towards him, Darry explained to me what a Soc was. "Socs are the rich kids who hate people like us." I knew he meant greasers, and the term 'Soc' didn't sound unfamiliar, so I was sure I knew what it meant in a past time. After eyeing me for a few more moments, Darry turned to Soda for a reply who simply shook his head. Nodding to himself, Darry stood up and looked down at mom. "I'm goin' out tonight," he declared, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Your brother just came back," mom said slowly, quietly, whilst frowning. "Don't you want to stay home with us?" Mom was probably hoping she could have her three boys all together under one roof for the first time in nearly a decade. I tried to ignore the way my heart hurt at the thought of him not wanting to be around me.

Rather than face the emotions, I silently stood up and made my way outside, sitting on the porch steps. I couldn't get enough of being outside, really. The air felt so much lighter in the open space and I hadn't known how much I really missed it until I finally got it back. Hugging my knees back to my chest, a defensive position I never really grew out of, I held back a sigh and stared at the sky as the bright blue was starting to be replaced by orange, purple, and red. I caught glimpses of the sky on occasions, but I never had enough time to appreciate the beauty of it.

Without trying to, I was able to overhear the conversation that was happening inside. The front door was open, after all. "Darrel, Ponyboy just came back today. He's probably scared and confused," mom ranted. "You're supposed to be his big brother. You're choosing to avoid him. How do you think that makes him feel?"

"I don't know, mom," Darry had immediately shot back, though his voice was relatively more quiet than mom's. "I don't know how it makes him feel. I know how it would make me feel, or you, or Soda. I don't know how it makes him feel. For all I know, he doesn't want to be around any of us. We don't know each other, and I doubt we ever truly will. I'm scared to hurt him, scare him, upset him, or anything. I don't know how to act. I don't-"

Darry's ranting was cut off by the sound of the screen door opening behind me. "Ponyboy?" Soda said, voice gentle and calming, probably expecting me to be in tears or something because of the way Darry was trying to leave the house. I gave him a nod to let him know I heard him, but then he took a seat next to me anyways. He followed where I was looking and watched the sun set with me. "Don't let Darry get to you. He missed you...a lot. He's not sure how to deal with any of this just yet. He doesn't know how to deal with you bein' back. He's scared. We all are. We're scared we're gonna wake up and realize that all of this has been a dream, that you're still missin' and we don't have a clue where you're at." He was quiet for a few minutes after that, letting those words sink in to me. I couldn't imagine a guy as big as Darry being scared, but that probably was because the only fear I was ever introduced to in person was myself. "He was in denial, you know. When we got that call, we was all cryin' except for him. He was mad. He said, 'You know it ain't even him. Quit gettin' your hopes up.' Even on the car ride this mornin', he was convinced we were gonna see you and have you not really be you. I think he still is in denial."

I let the words Sodapop was saying sink into me. If Darry was in denial, then the entire situation made sense in way that didn't point to Darry being disappointed in my return. I could understand the feeling of being in denial. "His birthday was a week ago," Soda said quietly. "I think this birthday was more difficult than the first birthday he had without you. He's been avoidin' us since we got the call but even more the last week. He won't admit he's sad. He's Superman; can't show any sign of weakness."

Superman was a cartoon character, that much I knew. A name like 'Superman' was hard to forget, even after nine years of never being introduced to it again. "Superman is a super hero," Sodapop said, again reading my thoughts. "He's so strong, so brave, so protective. Today was the first day I saw him cry in a long time...Anyways, it's freezin' out. How 'bout we go on inside?"

The moment I stepped inside, Darry and mom stopped arguing and eyed me and Sodapop as we walked back inside, me only half a step behind him. "Let 'im go out tonight, ma," he said. "He's dealin' with this the way he knows how to, just like the rest of us. We gotta deal in our own ways."

Instead of listening to the three of them debate the situation, I made my way down the hallway and into my room. I passed dad in the hall who simply smiled at me, and I was grateful for his distance. It felt refreshing to have something I could take at my own pace. The bedroom door seemed to shut on itself before I really had the thought to close it. I had enough of the open space for a day, or a life. There were more items in the bedroom then there were earlier on that day, such as notebooks and books. The notebook was no use, seeing as how I had no idea how to write, but the books were appreciated, though not at that moment. Grabbing Scruffy, I sat down on my bed and slid my painful shoes off, wondering how anybody wore them. The day had been exhausting, with lots of memories and barely concealed emotions added on top of the new environment and people I now had to adjust to. The bed was still unfamiliar to my body despite the fact that I had been sleeping in the hospital bed for a few weeks, but it wasn't necessarily bad. I had grown use to the hard floor where it wasn't an issue in the slightest, but I didn't want to give up having a bed. I was so comfortable sitting on the bed that I, almost automatically, laid down on the bed. Once I was laying on the bed, I couldn't keep my eyes opened, and when they closed, I couldn't stay awake.

I woke up to a loud bang, and I felt myself sit up quickly out of instinct. When I didn't recognize my surroundings, my heartrate sped up and I tried to move away only to land on the floor with a thud. While on the floor, I took a few moments to gather myself and remember where I was. I may had been away from the basement for three or so weeks but that didn't mean I had adjusted. Anytime I woke up, it took me a few moments to work through my memory and see that I had been rescued, as everybody else put it. It was hard to keep up with reality.

After the five minutes I sat on the floor and trying to ground myself to the present as opposed to the past, I had calmed myself enough to climb back onto my bed just in time for there to be a knock on the door before it opened. It was Sodapop, which didn't surprise me much. It didn't seem to me that he was going to give me space like it seemed the rest of the family was. Mom was overly worried with good reason, dad was allowing me to move at my own pace, and Darry was in denial, according to Sodapop. But Sodapop didn't seem uncomfortable around me and he didn't seem too worried and he seemed to think I was okay enough for his constant company, although it had only been day one. Maybe day two he would be repulsed.

"You up?" he asked, peaking his head in before seeing me and smiling. "We let you sleep for a little while. Mom let Darry go out, but he'll be back tonight by one. Steve's comin' over. I didn't tell him you're home, so it'll be a surprise." He winked, falling down on the edge of my bed almost dramatically. "He might know you're back, though, just by talkin' to me. He gets me real well." It was becoming evident that he was talking so much because I wasn't talking. It had been three weeks since I was found and I hadn't said a word. Maybe he thought I was incapable of it or maybe he was just waiting for me to be ready - I didn't know.

He invited me to join him and dad in the living room to watch some television while mom was in the kitchen cooking. "Dad usually helps, but mom won't let him today," he explained. "She wants this dinner to be perfect because she thinks it's important. We'll let her think that. It's important to her." He plopped down on the couch next to dad and turned his attention to the television but he kept glancing at me as I stood beside the couch, unsure of what to do. After feeling uncomfortable for a few minutes, I sat down on the floor next to the side of the couch Sodapop was on.

Even though I had a nap, I was exhausted. I couldn't remember a day in my life where I experienced more emotions and used so much energy. That being said, I was dosing off while I sat leaning against the couch. I heard what was happening on the television, but I was never too interested in watching it since I hadn't watched it as much as most other people did. I did watch it sometimes but never enough to be interested. I could sense eyes on me and whenever I opened my eyes I would catch either dad or Sodapop looking at me. Since they couldn't see my eyes because of the sunglasses, they didn't know I caught them as often as I did and they never stopped glancing. I felt like a fish, with children poking at the glass and being so fascinated with the creature who can breathe underwater. Knowing my name, I almost wanted to laugh at the comparison. Ponyboy the fish.

After a while of me falling asleep for a few seconds at a time and jumping awake, the door opened with no warning and I snapped to full attention. "Hey, Soda," someone said happily. I heard him before I saw him, but when I saw him I recognized him. Maybe it was because I knew he was coming over, or maybe it was because he looked almost exactly the same as he did when we were children, but I knew who it was. I had almost known him for a relatively short amount of time before I was taken, but that was enough now that I was remembering my childhood again. I saw him almost everyday those last few months I was with my family. When he laid his eyes on me, the smile turned to a look of shock, and I knew he recognized me or at least knew who I was. "Hey...kid."

"They had us bring him home today," dad explained. "It's healthier for him to be here than at the hospital. They can't do much more for him there than we can do here."

"You didn't tell me he was comin' back today...You sure y'all want me here? I can go back home," Steve said, sounding hesitant. He didn't stop staring at me.

"You're family," dad answered, as if that was enough explanation. Somehow, I think it was. Steve wasn't family, but he must have been really close with my parents and brothers for dad to say that so confidently, and I didn't think it was the first time he said so.

Kneeling down in front of me, the smile returned to Steve's face. "Remember me, kid?" I responded with a nod. Just seeing him was bringing back more and more memories and it made my head ache. I never thought I could be overwhelmed by thoughts as opposed to fear or pain. "He talk, Soda?"

"Not yet, but the docs say it's voluntary, and the sunglasses are 'cause of the light. And we think he remembers a lot. He met Johnny and Two-Bit. Today's been eventful."

"Must have been," Steve agreed. Mentally, I did, too. He sat down on the floor in front of the table in the living room, reaching for something that was underneath it. What he pulled out was a deck of cards, and immediately I perked up. I missed playing cards. When I was in the basement, playing cards was something I looked forward to. I would behave more than usual just to be granted the chance to play cards with them once in a while. "Wanna play poker?"

"Hell yeah," Sodapop answered enthusiastically, sliding off of the couch and onto the floor next to me and in front of the table.

"Sodapop," I heard mom say from the kitchen. Looking over, I saw her frowning at Soda, but I couldn't figure out why. The tone worried me. I knew he did something wrong, but it was hard to tell what was going to happen because of it. What would his punishment be?

Soda was unphased by her tone, making me relax. He wasn't worried so it couldn't have been a bad punishment, if there was going to be any punishment at all. "Sorry, mom," he said, smiling apologetically at me and then at her. Steve was also unphased by the change of tone by mom which only confirmed that nothing was going to happen. I later learned that 'hell' was a swear word and that our parents, mainly mom, tried to keep all her children from swearing, including the friends that were considered family.

"Let's teach the kid how to play," Steve said before smirking and adding, "And cheat."

Admittedly, I had to hold myself back from speaking to tell them I knew how to play poker, so I allowed them to teach me how to play poker and how to cheat. It didn't take long for them to realize I had some skill. They taught me how to cheat, but I didn't do it. It didn't feel right to cheat at a game, and I remembered what happened the last time I cheated at a card game. "How in the hell is your kid brother beatin' us?" Steve asked Soda under his breath about twenty minutes into the game.

"Pone, you know how to play poker?" Soda asked me finally, and I nodded which made him smile. "Geez, Pony, I thought we were just bad for a second there."

The three of us were playing poker for going on two hours and just genuinely having a good time. Sodapop and Steve were talking and laughing most of the time, and dad injected a few comments here and there as well. Mom brought in spaghetti for us to eat while we play. I took a few bites of it, but the texture of the food and the consistency weren't working too well for me so I stopped. I got full off of those few bites, anyways. When the door opened up suddenly, we all stopped and turned to see who it was, them with curiosity and me with apprehension. The person who walked inside was someone I didn't recognize at all, but everybody else seemed to.

"Hello, Dallas," our mom said cheerfully, happily. Dallas had to be Dally then. He was relatively tall with long hair that was so light it was almost white. His hair was different than the hair of the other guys I saw during my time out with Sodapop, seeing as how he didn't have any hair grease in. It was longer than other's, too, with the exception of me since I had extremely long hair. He had his thumbs in his front jean pockets and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Soda had described him as tough, acting as if he didn't have a care in the world. There was something about him that didn't fit up with that description, though. "Joining us for dinner? We ate already, but there's leftovers on the counter in case any of you were going to stop by," mom asked, bringing me out of my study of him.

"Naw, you know me. Just payin' a..." his voice trailed off as he looked around the room and saw me sitting there with a strange look on his face. I must have been a sight to see. A skinny boy with scars, bruises, and long hair wearing sunglasses indoors. I'd stare, too. "Who the he-"

"This is Ponyboy," Sodapop interrupted. "Dal, this is my brother."

"Well I'll be damned," he said, eyeing me up and down. "Maybe I'll be stayin' for dinner after all."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N I wrote this chapter immediately after writing chapter five as opposed to taking a small break. That usually ends up with a shitty, rushed chapter, so I'm sorry. I think I mixed another two chapters together because I don't want to switch POVs like I did before and Ponyboy still hasn't spoken yet, so that makes it harder to keep up with the original. I think it's turning out better than the original, though. I hope it is, at least. I wrote after writing the previous chapter since I went two weeks without an update. I'm gonna try not to make it that long again. I'm not gonna update everyday, but I was hoping to update at least once a week. If I go longer than that, send me hate mail or something. Sorry for the sucky chapter this time lol**

Dad took Dallas' arrival as a good time to go to bed, saying how he had to wake up early in the morning for work. He waved goodnight to everybody, but he took a few moments to stare at me with a longing that I hadn't seen from him yet before he smiled and went down the hall. Mom, on the other hand, cleaned up the mess me, Sodapop, and Steve made from dinner and brought Dallas out his own plate. She started asking him about the trouble he's gotten into, if the police would be looking for him, if he still had a bed to sleep in. I was getting mixed thoughts about Dallas. They were talking as if he was a criminal, yet they were talking as if he was a child who needed to be cared for.

"Hey, Mrs. C, the fuzz ain't after me," Dallas said, stopping mom from her constant inquiries. "I've been nothin' but a good little boy."

"Good little boy my a-" Steve started but cut himself off before he finished his sentence.

"Good catch," mom said, pointing at Steve who only winked in response. "Has your dad let you home yet? Do you need to stay here for a few days?"

Sodapop looked over at me, giving a little smile. He had made sure to mention that mom was a mom to everybody, and it was obvious. She seemed to genuinely care about Dallas and she didn't hesitate to open her home to him if he needed a place to sleep. I may have had mixed feelings about being home, but I couldn't help myself from feeling proud of being her son. "I'm stayin' with a friend still. You ain't gotta worry about me. I'll crash here if I need to," Dallas answered.

Mom finally ended her interrogation of Dallas and took a seat in the kitchen, making sure she had a nice view of the living room. She was probably watching me, but I was used to the constant eyes by the end of the day. I also had a staring issue, I decided, when I noticed I hadn't stopped staring at Dallas. Even with my sunglasses on, I guess Dallas had saw or just sensed me staring at him because he pointed it out to Sodapop. "Don't worry, Dal," Sodapop said, waving his hand as if to blow away the concern. "He just doesn't know you."

"That's gonna have to change, huh?" he asked, cleaning back against the couch. "So. Baby Curtis, huh? Welcome back." I nodded my head in acknowledgement. "Cat got your tongue, kid?"

"Voluntary silence," Steve explained, probably saving Sodapop from the pain of having to go over it again.

Dallas' eyes squinted a bit as he stared at me, studying me more critically. "He looks like you, Soda," he said, dropping the subject of my silence. "Soon he'll have all these girls hangin' over him just like they hang all over you."

"Come off it, Dal," Soda laughed, picking up a random item and tossing it at him who ended up making a mess of his spaghetti trying to dodge it. Without hesitation, he took a swing at Sodapop who easily dodged it, but even while he was laughing he saw my flinch. Giving Dally a look, both of them relaxed and stopped their fighting.

They didn't seem to be afraid of each other, and neither seemed to be hurt. It was such an otherworldly idea to hit each other for fun, but I later learned that they rough-housed a lot and they never meant anything bad by it. I even learned that I had taken part of the rough-housing before I went missing, too. I had a very, very slight memory of me and Sodapop climbing all over Darry, trying to pin him to the ground all while he pretended to fight back but couldn't stop himself from laughing. I tried to hold on to that memory, but the fear in my chest hadn't subsided from when they were fighting so I excused myself for bed.

Shutting my door behind me, I leaned my back against it and closed my eyes. I allowed myself to breathe in, slowing my breaths as much as I could. I didn't want to be put in a situation where I had to defend myself against my family the way I had to try to defend myself against the men I lived with for most of my life. If I was ever put into that position, I probably would submit to them and let whatever happen, happen. Fighting always hurt more in the end. But these thoughts were irrational, I knew. My family loved me and my family loved each other. Rough-housing wasn't dangerous the way abuse was.

Scruffy was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and I felt myself gravitating towards it. He was my baby, really. He was my baby and my protector all in one. I hugged him close to my chest with one arm and slid my glasses off with my free hand. The colors in my room were different without the shade of the glasses, and it felt more real, in some weird way. It felt like I was looking at my room as my room instead of a room of my memories. My time in the hospital hadn't felt real, and it still didn't feel real, but suddenly, this room felt like home. I slipped underneath the covers of my bed and allowed myself to fully take in the feeling of a bed. The blanket rested underneath my chin and my arms rested on my stomach with Scruffy. The pillows were such a beautiful kind of soft and my bed felt like it was hugging me. As pathetic as it may sound, I found comfort in the way my bed and covers engulfed me and I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

Laughter woke me up, but the noise was so sudden that I startled awake and found myself cowering away, blocking my face with my arms. For a few moments, I felt like I was back in the basement and a man was on his way down the stairs to hurt me in whatever way he felt like. I hadn't felt that kind of pain in weeks, and the fear of experiencing it again was almost enough to make me whimper. I was terrified. For the first time in years, I felt terrified and apprehensive of the men who took me. They hurt me, but they were in my life for years. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to never see them again for as long as I lived. The moment passed and I came back to my senses. I was holding Scruffy in my bed. I was at home, and my family was in the same house as I was. The last nine years of my life had ended and I was safe from harm, even though the pain I endured was meant to make me a better person. I ignored the way my heart hurt at the thought of being away from my kidnappers.

Soundlessly, I slid out of bed and opened my bedroom door. I was able to recognize the chatter coming from the living room as Sodapop and Steve, but then I heard Darry's voice. Sodapop said Darry would be home by one, so I had to guess it was sometime after that. When I looked at the clock, I saw that it was actually before one and Darry had been home early. With Scruffy in my arms, I made my way into the living room and saw everybody aside from my parents. Two-Bit and Johnny had came over sometime, and Steve and Dallas hadn't left. Nobody saw or heard me come in, so I stood in the doorway for a few minutes listening to their conversation. They were talking about football, I guess.

Sodapop saw me a few minutes later, momentarily looking surprised before relaxing his face. "Hey, Pony," he said, causing everybody to look over in my direction. "Can't sleep?" Standing up, he took a few steps towards me before pausing. Maybe he noticed something was off with me at the moment. Maybe he saw the fear, the confusion, or the way I wasn't fully awake just yet. Slowly, so I saw what he was doing, he grabbed my elbow very carefully and led me into the kitchen where he guided me to sit down at the table. He took the seat next to me and leaned in close. "Are you okay, kiddo?" Shrugging, I looked down at Scruffy and absent-mindedly began playing with his ears. "Do you wanna go back to bed?" When I didn't answer, he tried again. "Wanna stay in the living room with us?" I nodded. "C'mon, then, Pone."

Steve and Johnny had moved off of the couch, giving me and Sodapop room to sit down together. He sat down on one end and I sat down on the other, but when he told me I could lay down if I wanted to, I did with my head in his lap. It just felt right to lay like that. I hugged Scruffy tighter to my chest and closed my eyes, letting my breathing slow down to the point where I was closer to sleep than I was to wakefulness.

"Kid asleep?" someone asked, and I assumed it was Dallas by the voice. It had been quiet for a long while so his voice suddenly appearing scared me, but I kept my body still.

"I think so," Soda answered, and then I felt his hand stroking my hair. I felt like I should have moved away or stopped him, but it was such a comforting feeling that I couldn't remember feeling before so I let it go. "I think he was scared when he woke up. I can't tell how he feels just yet since it's only been a day, though, so it could have been anythin'."

"Why would he be scared?" Dallas asked. "He's back home. What's there to be scared of?"

"His memories, probably."

"I'll take a scared Ponyboy over no Ponyboy at all," Darry spoke up, surprising me by his statement. Hearing him say that he was glad I was home without him thinking I could hear him made me feel so much better. Even with Sodapop's words about him before, I was still worried he didn't want me there. I was happy to hear he did.

"He seems to be handlin' himself good," Steve said. "Good considerin' this was his first day with ya."

"He seems to like you," someone who was either Two-Bit or Johnny pointed out.

"What's that thing he's holdin'?" Dallas asked.

"Scruffy," Sodapop answered. "It's his toy he's had since he was a baby. He never used to go anywhere without it. He was only a baby, after all." His voice shook a little bit at the end and I heard him take a deep breath. "I'm glad he remembers it."

"He seems odd," Two-Bit commented. "Not in a weird way but in an...I don't know. Just odd."

"He lived in a basement for nine years. Can't expect him to come out without a problem."

"How'd they catch the guy?" Dallas asked. "How many were there again? Three? News reports are bein' even less informin' than y'all."

I felt Sodapop tense up under me and his hand started moving through my hair a lot quicker. Darry was the one who answered, though. "It's hard to talk about still. We haven't been tryin' to keep you guys out of the loop. They found three but they think there were a lot more than that. The guy who owned the house had a warrant. Searching for something, I dunno. Then they found Pony...chained up. In the basement." Darry stopped, taking a deep breath. "They said it didn't seem like he wanted to leave, but nobody's too sure about anything since he won't talk. Police and docs said it's normal if he hadn't wanted to leave. That was the only place he really knew." Darry finished talking and that ended the talk about me with a heavy silence.

The conversation shifted away from me and back to different topics once everybody processed what was said. I noticed their voices were quiet and gentle compared to how they were when I wasn't in the room. Sodapop never stopped stroking my hair and I didn't want him to stop. The action made me feel oddly calm and safe and it was a sensation I loved. It was one of the best feelings, if I could be honest. With the lack of serious conversation, I started drifting off to sleep again, even more comfortable than I was before.

I vaguely remembered hearing Sodapop bid everybody a goodnight before I felt him lift me up in his arms and carry me away. "You wanna sleep in there with him," Darry said, phrasing it as if it were a question but stating it as a fact.

"What if he doesn't want me to? What if it makes him scared or somethin'?"

"Go," Darry said. "If he doesn't want you to, then you'll know not to do it again. But at least you'll know. You guys shared a bed all the time. You slept in his room more than you slept in your own, even after he was gone. Go."

Sodapop seemed to have listened to him because when he laid me down in bed, I felt him crawl in next to me. My eyes opened on their own and I looked up at him tiredly. "Sorry for wakin' you, Pone," he whispered, pulling the blanket over the two of us and carefully wrapping his arm around my chest. "Mind if I bunk with you?" I moved closer to him in response, letting my eyes fall shut again. "Remember we used to share a bed a lot as kids? You'd crawl into bed with me instead of mom and dad if you had a bad dream or just a bad day. I'd crawl into bed with you if I was sick. Sometimes we'd just be playin' and fall asleep together." One of his arms rested above the two of us and his hand started stroking my hair slowly, effectively putting me back to sleep along with his voice. "We were inseparable. I had almost moved into your room for the first year before mom and dad finally put their foot down and got me back on track. I've missed you...I love you, Pone. G'night, honey."


	7. Chapter 7

The suffocation was what woke me up, not the nightmare, but I guess they were one in the same. I woke up unable to breathe after being choked in my dream. I tried sucking in a breath but nothing was working and I felt like I was going to die. Mentally, I tried to prepare myself for death because the lack of oxygen was painful and the feeling didn't seem to be going away. I clawed at my throat, trying to find a way to inhale something but I was trapped. I was trapped physically and mentally. Then I started doubting whether or not I was even in my own bed. For a moment, I was still in the basement. I was still chained to the basement wall and one of the many abusers were choking me. There was nothing I could do about it aside from suffer.

"Pony," I heard someone familiar say to me, and the scene of the basement started to reform into something less dangerous in my mind. The voice was Sodapop, but that couldn't be right if I was still being held captive. He was with mom and dad and Darry while I was with these men who were my family but weren't really my family. My brother wasn't there and my mind was just playing a cruel trick on me by making me imagine his voice. "Pony, it's okay, you're okay, we're okay. Everythin' is okay." The pain in my chest intensified and I forced my eyes open in order to find something to ease the hurt, but the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my brother. Sodapop. I was home, I wasn't being hurt, and I was only suffering from a bad nightmare. I closed my eyes once more but allowed my body to relax as I took a deep breath. I was safe. I could breathe because I was safe. Being with Sodapop meant everything was okay. Everything had to be okay. He was my solace.

When I started to relax, I could feel Sodapop relax as well. "Do you have nightmares a lot?" he asked, resting one of his hands on my shoulder and squeezing it gently as if to comfort me. When I shrugged, he asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?" I don't know what he was expecting me to say, considering I had yet to speak, but I'm sure he knew I wasn't going to say anything and was instead asking just in case I did.

Nightmares were common for me, even if my reaction that morning was not. Most of the time when I slept, I would have dreams that were either memories or a cruel, sick joke my mind decided to play on me. Usually, they were memories, because just because I didn't hate the guys who kept me for so long didn't mean I didn't hate the pain they caused me every single day. Whenever I fell asleep, I had a nightmare. There wasn't any avoiding it, but I was usually able to sleep through them and not wake up in a panic like I had been. During the beginning of the basement, I would have nightmares that it was my family experiencing the pain instead of me. As I got older, those nightmares subsided as I pushed my family from my mind. Thinking of them brought me pain and pain brought me weakness and weakness brought me more pain.

The silence between me and my brother continued for a few minutes. He was probably waiting it out to see if I would speak or have another freak out again. When nothing happened, he switched gears from being pained by my pain to being my smiling, happy older brother. "Why don't you go take a shower while we get breakfast ready?" Spending my morning in the shower wasn't a bad thought, so I agreed with a nod before painfully sliding out of bed. My body hadn't stopped aching from the nightmare, but I knew it would subside soon enough. Sodapop handed me clothes, explaining that they didn't fit him anymore and would fit me well enough for now, and then he showed me how to use the shower before walking out and shutting the bathroom door behind him.

I had wanted to avoid the mirror once I was in the bathroom because I didn't want to see how I looked, but the mirror was placed on the wall to be seen as soon as the door was open. There was little difference from how I looked at the hospital to how I looked while at home except I saw my looks as even worse now that I had compared myself to my family. When I finished undressing for the shower, I stared at my body in the mirror and traced my fingers over the many, many scars I had aquired throughout my life. Scars on my wrists from the chains and ropes, scars on the inside of my arm, scars on my stomach, chest, and back. Everywhere I looked there were more scars, some fading and some very easily identifiable. Some areas of my skin were an odd yellow color from the bruises that were still healing. My hair was nothing like any of the boys I had saw and definitely wasn't like how my brothers and their friends kept their hair, and I decided to cut it. So that's what I did.

I dug around the cupboards and drawers for some scissors and, without taking the time to think about it, I grabbed a handful of my hair and chopped it. Where I ended up cutting it was a little shorter than my shoulders and that's where I kept it. I snipped away at my hair, watching it fall to the floor in clumps. Most of the unhealthiest portions of my hair had fallen to the ground and I couldn't feel sad about it. No long hair meant nobody could get such an easy hold of me. They couldn't hold me down, gripping my hair as they hurt me.

Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts out of my mind as I did my best to sweep up the dead hair on the floor and tossed them in the garbage can. My hair was now short and, while it was nowhere near perfect because I had no experience cutting hair, it was good enough for me. I turned the shower on, waiting for it to get hot, before I stepped in and sighed as the heated water fell against my back. Washing my hair was less of a pain now that my hair was shorter so I finished in the shower a lot quicker than I had while I was taking showers at the hospital. I wasn't ready to get out just yet, though, so I stayed in until the water started losing the warmth that I was drawn to.

I wrapped the towel around my waist, desperate to keep the most secret parts of me hidden even while I was in the privacy of the bathroom. I stood back in front of the mirror, using my hand to wipe away the fog before studying myself once more. I looked healthier with the less amount of hair and I felt more normal. Normal in the sense that maybe I could fit in with the people who never had to live in a basement for nine years. Maybe I wouldn't be easily identifiable. I pulled on the clothes that Sodapop had given me and noticed immediately how big they were on me. The underwear stayed up well enough, but the jeans kept trying to fall. The shirt was also big on me but it was wearable, so I let it go. I took my dirty clothes and the towel back into my room and threw them in a basket before making my bed and putting my sunglasses back on. The light from the bathroom had really irritated my eyes and started to give me a headache.

Sodapop and mom were sitting in the kitchen and both saw me enter the kitchen within literal seconds. Both had the same reaction, as well: eyes widened, mouth hanging open, all previous movements halted as they took in my new state. Sodapop shook himself out of his shock and he grinned happily at me before mom could move, but when she did move, she came over and engulfed me in a sudden hug which had me tensing up, still apprehensive from my nightmare. "You gave yourself a haircut? What was that for?" she asked me, so I only shrugged as I awaited the moment her hands would leave my body. The way she phrased the inquiry gave the impression that me cutting my hair was a bad thing, but the way she smiled at me when she pulled away contradicted that. Her smile turned sad, probably because she realized I still wasn't talking. "I can sew these pants up so they fit you better. Do you want me to?"

"Sit down and eat," Sodapop said, saving me from having to once again disappoint mom by remaining silent. "Mom can fix your parents after you eat." Mom put her hand on my back and led me over to the table, pulling out a chair for me. I let her do whatever she wanted, fighting the urge to pull away. Mom missed out on her youngest child for most of his life; if she wanted to coddle, I owed her that much no matter how much discomfort it brought me. She stood around the kitchen hesitantly before grabbing her cup of what was probably coffee and stepping out.

Once she was gone, Sodapop gave me a sly grin. "You could pass as a greaser with that haircut. Just need a bit hair grease and a glare and you'll fit the role perfectly." The was the best compliment I have received in my life up to that point, I think. Just knowing that I could fit in, according to my brother, made me feel warm inside in a way I didn't think I could. "You're lookin' good, kid," he said with a wink, pouring a glass of milk before sliding it to me.

"Woah, look at you," I heard somebody say from behind me. Turning, I saw Steve leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the living room. "You look better with your hair cut, kid. Healthier." The wince from Sodapop was slight enough for anybody to miss, but I caught it at 'healthier.' I didn't try to understand that because, truth be told, I had enough emotional pain throughout the course of the morning already. Heaving a sigh, probably noticing Soda's wince as well, Steve came in the kitchen fully and took a seat. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Mom was plannin' on takin' me and Pony to the store," Soda answered, which was news to me. "I guess my winter jacket isn't solid enough to be called a jacket anymore."

"Your winter jacket barely qualifies as clothing, at this point," a voice said from the other room. When that person came walking into the room, I realized it was Darry. "With the amount of holes in that thing, I'm surprised you haven't caught a cold yet."

Soda smiled sheepishly and took a sip of his own milk. "Point is, she's takin' us to the store for that since school is in a few days and to buy Pone here some more clothes since he ain't got much an' I'm bigger than 'im."

Darry's eyes glanced to me, barely noticeable, before taking the last remaining seat at the table with me, Sodapop, and Steve. He leaned back on the chair and grabbed a plate off of the counter that had eggs and pancakes on it. He slid the plate over to me. I wasn't hungry, but the look Darry gave me told me that he wanted me to take something so I took a pancake and held it in my hands under the table. "I need to go, too," he was saying. "My work boots are on the same page of your winter jacket."

"Mind if I tag along?" Steve asked, grabbing a pancake off of the plate as well and taking a bite out of it. "Got nothin' else to do today."

"Sure thing," Soda answered before looking towards me. "Eat that pancake of yours, Pone, and then we'll go have mom fix those pants up for you."


	8. Chapter 8

Air wouldn't enter my lungs quick enough. It seemed that my own body was trying to force the air away from me instead of sucking it in the way I needed to. There were too many people near me. The room was just too small for all of the things happening in my head. I forced my body to remain relaxed while the adrenaline flooding my body kicked in my fight or flight instincts, and all the instincts my whole life had been to flee. Flee the danger, but this time, there wasn't any. The danger at that moment was myself and the thoughts running loose inside my head.

Mom was fixing my pants, making them tighter on me so they would stay up when I moved. Darry was also in the room, though there wasn't a clear reason as to why. Dad was there, too, saying he was putting off leaving for work as long as he possibly could. I knew I was safe, having my parents and one of my brothers there with me, but there were too many memories running through my head and too many different scenes playing out that it was difficult to keep myself grounded in reality. Whenever I had moments like that, I would pinch the skin at the palm of my hands as a way to hold me back getting lost in the past. It had been my trick for most of my life and it usually worked a lot better than it was at that moment. I blamed it on the small area of my parent's room.

It didn't take too long for mom to finish, and when she pulled away I felt the tension leave my muscles and I could breathe again. I tried not to relish in the feeling as much as I wanted to because then that would show my family that I was struggling with it to begin with. "Better?" she asked, walking around me as she took in her work. I nodded, taking a step away from her and closer to the door before looking down to examine the way the looked. They felt much better, and even though they were still baggy, she had also fixed the pant legs so they were permanently rolled up to help me avoid stepping on them and, inevitably, tripping.

Darry and dad both spoke their praise of her work, but I barely heard them and I don't think mom heard at all. She was staring at me intently and I think I was the only one to notice the tears from her eyes. It seemed anytime she looked at me she started crying and I knew there wasn't much more of seeing her pain that I could take. I knew everybody was hurting about the situation, but seeing my mother cry was something that made the situation even harder for me to handle. A child never forgets their mother's voice. That's something I never remembered hearing for the first time yet something I always just knew. Nine years without my mother and I knew if I wanted to hear her talking, I would be able to. Now, back with her, I wish I had forgotten it. Maybe that would have cut some of the emotional strings attached with watching her cry and allowed me to feel more pain for myself than I did for my family.

Silently excusing myself, I went back to my room and closed the door quietly behind me. Without meaning to, I slid down the door and sat in front of it with my head in my hands. I had been home for a day and I was already clingy to Sodapop, scared of my oldest brother and father, and feeling almost agonizing pain in my heart for my mother. Life was simpler when I was in the basement. I didn't have to feel pain for those men and I didn't have to be attached to them. I knew the rules in that basement. The feelings associated with the basement are mostly physical and fearful. I didn't cry, wishing to be home with my family. I didn't empathize with them if they were having a rough day. I knew when to expect pain, when they were going to be friendly, and I knew when not to push any buttons. It was easier then. Being home with my family, even if it had only been for one day, was so much harder. I found myself wishing, not for the first time, that I had been left in that basement.

There was a knock at my door about twenty minutes later. "Pony?" Soda said quietly, using the voice he used when addressing me. "You okay in there? We're gettin' ready to leave, unless you need a few more minutes?" He waited a moment before lowering his voice so only I could hear him, unless he wasn't alone in the hallway. "Hey, kid, I know you needed some time to calm down. You were gettin' kinda worked up before. If you need some time, just let me know, okay? If you need anythin', whether that be me talkin' to ya, some silent support, or someone to guard your door for ya while you calm down, just let me know somehow. I don't wanna push you too far, make you shut down more than you have, but...I feel like I gotta do somethin', even if that somethin' is nothin', just cause it's what you want or need. You're still my little brother."

I didn't think anything could bring me as close to tears as he brought me right there, but I kept any water from reaching my eyes and forced myself to my feet before opening the door. Sodapop looked shocked for a moment, probably expecting to see me in a full blown freak out again, but then he smiled. "Probably shoulda saved that speech for another time, huh? Let's get goin' then."

In the living room, I saw Dallas asleep on the couch. "He crashes here sometimes," Soda explained to me. "Two-Bit and Johnny left before you got out of the shower, but he hasn't woke up yet. He probably won't be here when we get home. He likes to pop in and out. No hellos, no goodbyes."

The front door opened and Steve appeared, shocking me with the sudden noise but I contained the flinch. "We ready to head out, guys?"

There was a moment during our trip to the store where I forgot where I was and what I was doing. I kept silent during this moment, knowing in the back of my mind that the place I was seeing wasn't really where I was. My body continued moving, walking probably too close to Sodapop, without really letting my mind get control. There isn't much to remember about those few minutes of the day because my mind had blanked. It was as if I fell asleep while walking; one minute I wasn't aware of the world around me and the next I suddenly was. Nothing had changed aside from our immediate location. We had moved a few aisles from the shoe section (Darry had found the cheapest pair of boots available last I knew - I later pierced together that he had tried them on and went off to pay for them) to the junior section for me.

At the end of the day, I had gained a few new items for my closet. I could tell mom thought it wasn't enough but I had no idea on what was and wasn't enough. There weren't very many options of clothing for me over the years. Sometimes, when the current pair of pants didn't cover everything, they'd toss me a new pair, but that was basically it. Here, mom had gotten me two new pairs of jeans and four different shirts. She also got me a belt so I would be able to wear some of Sodapop's clothes if I ever needed to without them falling down on me.

I wish I could say that I detested the trip we took but that wasn't the case. Sodapop and Steve had, more than a handful of times, tried on different clothes just for the laugh. They especially enjoyed pulling on different hats, usually in a mocking fashion, and then they would make fun of each other while Darry made some off-hand comment about how childish they were while mom would pretend to roll her eyes. Darry also made some attempt at talking to me but he spoke as if he knew he'd get nothing in return. Most of it was him talking about his past; what he did in high school, what he planned to go to college for, what the two of us used to do. Whenever the topic got too deep, Sodapop would always jump in and make some sort of joke. That probably wasn't an accident.

After the suprisingly long trip, we dropped Steve off at his house with him promising to come back to our house later. It was close to one when we got home. Sodapop helped me put away the few things we picked up at the store before we joined Darry in the kitchen. "I'm gonna cook something up for lunch real quick," he said, pulling out bread. "Mom's callin' the school. She's asking about you, Pone."

"Why is she callin' the school?" Soda asked. I wanted to know, too.

Darry and Sodapop shared a long, quiet look before he answered. "Nobody really knows how to go about this situation with you, Ponyboy," he said, his voice hesitant as if he wasn't sure if he should be talking to me about that subject. "You missed out on so much school. If it's possible to get you at least a high school education, mom and dad are gonna try to get you in. We don't know when yet. We don't know if you're gonna be allowed."

Sodapop looked more confused than I felt. I had understood what Darry meant: I needed to go to school but nobody was sure how that would work. "I don't get it. Why can't he just go? Test in or somethin'?"

"Maybe it is that simple," Darry explained, "but that's why mom is calling. We don't know if it's that simple, or if it's possible, or if we needta homeschool him. There hasn't exactly been many..." He paused, giving me another glance before continuing. "We haven't seen many people missing for this long come back. Nobody has been sure on what's gonna happen next. Mom just wants to know sooner rather than later. I don't think she's in any rush to send you back, Pone." The unsaid 'I don't think I'm ready to see you go back either' was evident in his voice, but Sodapop didn't point it out and neither did I.

 **A/N Okay. Hate me. It's okay. I hate me, too. It's been, what, almost two months since I've updated this? I could go on and on with all the explanations as to why I'm a terrible updater, but since I know nobody actually enjoys reading authors notes, I'll make it shorter for those who do:**

 **1) Spider-Man - I'm in the middle of a terrible obsession with Spider-Man. My thoughts have been replaced by {Tom Holland's} Spider-Man and I am unable to control it**

 **2) Depression - bleh, we've all been there**

 **3) School - I've only been back for a week which is only like one-eighth of the length I've been procrastinating, but I've been thinking about it all summer and I've been terrified to start up again. I'm scared fanfiction will make me fall behind**

 **4) Work - I got a job back in May and I've been working quite a bit. Not too much, considering it's only part-time, but that's been a huge portion of my life this summer. I feel like I live at work. All I did this summer, really, was work and sleep**

 **5) Other - I had a few things this summer. I went to two concerts and a WWE live show. Coincidentally (no, I'm serious lol) these happened around the same times I had actually planned to update. And then I didn't lol**

 **I can't promise I'll update any better in the future. I'm trying to get my life together (understanding who's in my life to stay and who's not, trying to push past the depression, getting a good schedule of work and school going, etc) so maybe that will help with how often I update. If it doesn't, I'm sorry. I'm trying here, I truly am. I am trying to make my life work and I am trying to get out of this funk and just be happy for the first time in ever. Sorry to all the loyal readers who follow this story in the slightest. I know what it's like to wait for an update you want to happen NOW**


	9. Chapter 9

It was decided that before dinner, mom and dad would go visit the school to talk to the principle in person rather than over the phone. Mom started preparing dinner before dad came home, and when he did come home they left again almost immediately and leaving Darry in charge of finishing dinner. Sodapop waited until they were both gone before jumping up and running to the kitchen with shouts of, "Dibs on making dinner!" following.

"Don't you dare touch that food, Sodapop Patrick Curtis!" Darry hollered, running off after him after winking at me. We had previously been sitting around the living room. Darry was teaching me how to play solataire while Sodapop was casually laying on the couch, looking as if he could fall asleep at any given moment. That was, of course, until mom and dad left and he ran to the kitchen.

Given the first alone time I had in hours, I took a moment to lean back against the couch from my position on the floor and close my eyes. It had been a long, exhausting day. The past few weeks themselves had been exhausting but this day was neverending. The day prior may had been more emotionally exhausting but that day had been more physically exhausting. My legs ached, my back ached, and my head was beginning to ache. I don't know if mom knew I was in pain or assumed I would be in pain but she had mentioned almost off-hand that the doctors said I'd be in some discomfort for a while. She also reminded me that I was supposed to head to the hospital the next day for my physical therapy. Three times a week, they had agreed, but they gave me a couple days to adjust somewhat to my life. The physical therapy would start to be on a stricter schedule again, like it had been while I was in the hospital.

Truthfully, I wanted nothing more than to go to bed for the night. I had my share of socializing, if I could call it that, with my family and their friends. It had to have been enough to at least let me have the night alone without anybody speaking. Absolute silence is what I craved. I wanted nothing more than no lights, no sound, and nobody hovering over me. I knew I couldn't have that yet, though. Not only did I have to adjust to my new life but everybody else also had to adjust to me being present. It was a learning process for all involved to live together. Until things calmed down and turned to the type of normal they were already accustomed to, I knew I would be stuck hanging around everybody endlessly. I couldn't say I hated that, but I really needed alone time that lasted more than a few minutes.

Sometime in between mom and dad leaving and Darry and Sodapop moving to the kitchen to cook dinner, their friends started showing up. First it was Two-Bit who gave me an odd look at first before smiling and heading towards the kitchen, letting me remain alone. Next was Dallas and Johnny, obviously having arrived together. Johnny made what would have been eye contact had it not been for my glasses and gave me a friendly smile before taking a seat on the couch. Dallas gave me a little head nod before leaning against the wall between the kitchen and living room. Steve finally arrived right as Sodapop and Darry finished up dinner. The short amount of alone time I had was nice while it lasted.

It was hard not to overhear the conversation happening in the kitchen between everybody aside from me and Johnny. The conversation was centered, naturally, around me. Johnny glanced at me with a shrug that could only be described as a 'what-are-you-gonna-do shrug' before turning his attention back to their voices. Everybody was expressing their shock at my haircut and how I could almost pass as a greaser. I turned my focus away from their umimportant conversation and instead picked up Lord of the Flies from the table and began flipping through the pages.

Reading was an activity I knew I was lucky to have. The men from the basement allowed me that comfort which I was forever going to be grateful for. With the small amount of reading I knew how to do from before (which, admittedly, couldn't have been much), I was able to pick up reading throughout the years without any real lessons. Reading was enjoyable, allowing me to almost desensitize myself from whatever was currently happening around me during the time of reading. I didn't get to read as often as I had liked but I couldn't complain with the amount I had read. Lord of the Flies is a specific book I remembered reading. Many of the books ran together in my mind, with no real way to actively seperate the books, but Lord of the Flies was such a stupid title that it stuck with me. Lord of the Flies was familiar and let me take back some of the life I had known only a month or so before.

I read during dinner, obviously ignoring the comments Dallas and Two-Bit were making on my ability to read a book. There was no way I would be able to explain it to them if I wasn't talking yet so I, of course, remained silent and continued reading instead of eating like I was probably supposed to. Darry had gave me a look at first but it relaxed a bit when Sodapop gave him a look of his own. "Baby steps," he had said, giving me a smirk and a wink. "Let him read for now."

Not long after everybody else had finished their dinner there was a knock at the door which had everybody, me included, jumping. Darry and Sodapop gave each other a look before Darry stood up and answered the door. Once the door was opened, we were all able to see two police officers standing there. I sat up straight, dropped the book, and scrambled backwards in fear. In my head, I couldn't help but think they were going to take me away again. While I dearly missed the basement and the men I had grown up with, I also didn't want to lose my real family again. I wished I was able to have both but I knew I couldn't. There was no possible way.

"Pony, wait," Soda called it, basically jumping over the side of the couch to kneel down beside me. His arm wrapped around my shoulders and I didn't let myself flinch. Instead, I forced myself to lean in closer to him, knowing he would keep me safe and I shouldn't be appalled by his touch. My breaths were coming in fast and I felt dizzy. This was honest fear. I knew fear, but I had forgotten what raw fear like that felt like. I could have started crying but I had stopped crying years before and I wasn't about to throw all of that away.

"He thinks you're here to take 'im," Soda snapped, understanding my fear without me having to tell him. "Tell 'im you're not."

"We aren't here to take you, young man," one said. It was meant to calm me down but I knew it'd take more than just his saying they weren't taking me to calm me down. Darry opened the door wider, allowing the two police officers to step in. I immediately recognized them both. The two of them were there in the basement the day I was 'rescued.' They had tried to get me to open up about my ordeal down there, reassuring me that I would remain safe. I tried to reason with myself that they wouldn't offer me so much sympathy if they were just gonna send me back not even a month later.

The second cop looked up at Darry, a frown etched on his face. "Are you Darrel Curtis?" he asked.

"Yessir, I am," Darry replied, his voice deeper than I heard before. He was standing up straight, a faint look of apprehension on his face.

The same cop cleared his throat, looking around at all of us before back at Darry. "Can we talk to you in private?"

Darry shook his head. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of all of us. They'll hear it one way or another so let's make this go by quick."

The first cop took a half a step forward and that was enough to make Dallas move to the edge of his seat, looking reading to get up before Johnny rested his hand on his arm. Everybody was on edge because of the cops, not just me. "Very well," the cop said, sounding hesitant. "We're very sorry to inform you that there has been an accident. An auto wreck caused by the icy roads. Darrel and Diana Curtis were found dead on the scene."

Sodapop's grip tightened on me which made me flinch out of habit because it hurt. He hadn't let up, though, and I refused to let myself think Soda was mad at me. I might have refused to think about it but my body still reacted in fear. I felt start to recoil away from him, tensing up and preparing for the blows that I knew would never come from Soda. I glanced over at him and saw tears in his eyes which only confused me more. I couldn't figure out why he was upset or what I had done to cause it. An intake of breath had me turning around to see both Johnny and Two-Bit with their eyes closed. Dallas was mumbling things under his breath that I couldn't quite hear. I watched Steve stand up from his place on the couch to take a knee by me and Sodapop, resting one of his hands on either of our shoulders. He squeezed gently but the feeling still made me duck my head.

I tried to figure out what Darry's reaction was but I couldn't tell from the back of his head. The second cop spoke up next. "We're sorry for your loss-" Loss? "-and we're sorry we have to add more to this but we have to. We're aware that you have two younger brothers. Ponyboy, of course, and...?"

"Sodapop," Darry said, his voice significantly less strong than it had been just seconds before.

"Right. Ponyboy and Sodapop. We're aware that Ponyboy was found a few weeks ago and just came back home yesterday. He's thirteen and Sodapop is sixteen. Both are underage. Tomorrow a social worker will be by to place them both in a boys home."

"No," Darry and Soda said simultaneously. The cops looked taken back. I thought about what the cop had said. He mentioned a boys home. At the time, I had no clue what that was. I wondered if it would be anything like the basement. Nothing was making sense. Emotions didn't make sense. Panic made sense and I was feeling quite a bit of that but I couldn't understand much else. Everybody looked so sad and I couldn't figure out why.

"Sir, I'm of age," Darry said, voice gaining strength back. "I recently turned twenty. I can take custody of them. I want to."

"You can just split us apart," Sodapop continued. His grip on me tightened more and I wondered if it would bruise. "We just got our baby brother back. We need to stick together, all three of us."

"I understand you feel that way, but-"

"I'll drop out of school and get a full-time job," Darry interrupted. "I already have a part-time one. I want to keep them both."

"Very well," the first cop relented. "If you're sure, then tomorrow you can come to the station and meet with a social worker. He or she can come back here and decide if this is a good living environment for the two underaged boys. If this is what you want, then I can assure you that you have our full support and we'll make sure the social worker knows this."

"Thank you, sir," Darry said, shaking both of the cops hands and accepting another round of 'sorry' before they they.

The atmosphere of the room was completely different than it was before the knock came at the door. It was silent for a long moment. I wouldn't be surprised if everybody stopped breathing simply to add to the dramatic silence. Sodapop broke it first, breaking out in sobs. I slid away from him, his grip faltering enough to allow me to do so, and I got to my feet. Everybody looked at me, most with wide eyes and caution. I backed away from them, inching closer to the hallway of my room. I felt myself shaking my head. "Ponyboy," Soda whispered, "C'mere." I couldn't understand his tears. Why was he crying? It didn't make sense and the more I wondered about it the closer I was to panicking. Why did everybody look so miserable? My parents were only dead. My parents...dead? That didn't sound right to me. Clearly, I had made a mistake somewhere. I must have misunderstood the conversation. I had just come home, barely spent two days there, and my parents were dead? No, dead had to mean something other than my definition of dead. Nobody was dead. Maybe I was dead. Maybe I was living in hell all those years and I just never realized I was gone.

Darry took a step towards me and it snapped me out of my thoughts. I shook my head with more force and turned, walking towards my room and shutting the door behind me. I locked it and then all-but leaped into the safety of my bed.

My parents were dead. I was home for a day and they were dead. Nine years without them in my life and now I wouldn't have them ever again and I was about to lose my brothers, too. Again. There was no way it was going to happen again. I would take going back to the basement if it meant I knew my family was alive and Sodapop and Darry would remain together. No. My parents weren't dead, I convinced myself. Dead, in my mind, didn't exist anymore. I had decided that dead no longer was a thing. Death was a figment of my imagination.

I ended up with my glasses thrown somewhere across the room and me rocking back and forth on my bed with my knees up to my chest. It was the only way I could calm myself down along with pinching at the skin on the palm of my hands. I was too close to losing all the calm I forced into my body and the years of refusing to cry was close to coming to an end. I tried to remind myself to breathe at a normal pace because it was hard to tell if I was breathing too fast or too slow. It felt like the room had no air in it and it hurt my chest. It made my head spin. In, out. In, out. Back, forth. In, out.

Maybe I had lost it already. I probably did. Because my parents weren't dead. They couldn't be.


End file.
